Merlin and the School of Witchcraft and Wizardy
by WatUCWatIC
Summary: "I knew you would eventually cause your own demise with all the experimentation you had taken to. Alchemy, spells, the creation of an entirely new form of magic!" Kilgharrah scolded like a mother hen, Merlin thought, but all he said was probably true. After all, the youth could not remember the years of memories Kilgharrah said he was missing. Then the letter from Hogwarts arrived.
1. Who

**Obviously, there aren't nearly enough of these out there, so I've decided to start one of my own. I have also recently realized that incomplete stories, or ones that are super slow in updating, maybe even stories that are completely abandoned, aren't an issue anymore. As in, they're there, but I don't mind it as long as the chapters that _are_ available are fun.**

 **This is why I'm ruining many beginner audiences' lives (I'm assuming this new way of thinking comes with experience in fanfiction) by starting this story and updating as I go! I'll even set up some dates so I can at least _try_ to keep the updates steady (laugh).**

 **I am warning you, though, this just means the stories don't get as much thought put into them - since I tend to leave gaps and plot holes in unfinished stories. Maybe it works differently with my fanfiction?**

 **This was long. Meh. You may not know me, but you will soon enough. Add this to your list of disappointments while you can still keep tabs.**

. . .

 **Disclaimer:** _ **noun.**_ **a statement that denies something, especially responsibility; (in law) an act of repudiating another's claim or renouncing one's own**

 **Here goes nothing.**

. . .

 **Black.**

"-lin…erlin…"

He could not see. He could not speak. He could barely hear.

"Mer…er.."

What a calming voice. It was perfect for story telling. But, whose voice was it?

"-erli…lin…"

He could almost see, but what he did was only a blurb of colors. Tired, his eyes tried to shut themselves again.

" _Merlin!_ "

The boy flung himself forward, as if surging from a nightmare. He was sweating and cold, but most of all confused.

Before him was an owl. It was brown and volatile, flying haphazardly just above his head. Feeling like an idiot, the boy asked, "Are you a talking owl?"

It was a stupid question. Talking owls did not exist.

"Of _course_ , I am," the owl said. _The owl said._

"You're a talking owl!" The boy peered at the owl, impertinently grabbing a flapping wing to check the supposed bird.

" _Merlin!_ " The boy suddenly realized his impudence and held himself back.

"Sorry. I've never met a talking owl."

The owl narrowed his eyes. The boy then felt a poke, not quite a prod, but not quite a tug. It was just a call.

 _Merlin?_

The boy jumped, touching his head curiously. "Whoa! What was that? Was that you?"

The owl, however, had already flapped away to check a book on the ground. It was slightly charred, and some pages had detached and fallen into the surrounding area. The boy realized he was in the middle of the scene.

Standing up, he looked at the room. It was an infinite mess. There were collages of books in all directions, and strange, beautiful, exotic artifacts that made their way into corners and misshapen hardbacks.

Bottles and vials of all shapes filled with liquids of all colors crowded the nearest table. Another table had a device with digits on it and what the boy could only assume was a strange candle. A very bright, very strange candle.

A bed lay forgotten in the disarray of the chambers.

The almond colored walls had tenacious patterns, and the boy couldn't stop himself from following them from the very bottom to the top, where a white trim separated the equally white ceiling from the rest.

There were two doorways. One led to a small, discolored, room with a white bowl full of water and other strange fountains.

The other led to many more awkward contraptions that the boy could put no name to. One opened to the sight of food, but the inside was cold to the touch.

 _Weird_ , he thought and moved on.

"Where am I?" He said aloud when he made his way back to the original room. The owl, who was still scouring the book, looked up with a twinge of dread in its eye.

"I think the question you meant to ask was ' _Who_ am I?'," he said.

"No," the boy shook his head. Obviously, this owl had some jokes. "I meant _where_. I know who I am, I am-" He cut himself short.

Looking around the house and studying its strange objects was not nearly as confusing as it was to look at his hands.

But the boy looked. He slowly turned them to look from the nails to the palms, going past his wrists and as far as his shoulders. From that view, the boy could see his entire body. His feet were bare and the only thing covering his frame was a pair of white breeches that barely covered his modesty.

He was thin, gangly, and he simply _was_.

 _Who_ am _I?_

The presumably strong candle flickered and shattered, leaving them all in absolute **black**.

Outside, a car horn blared.

. . .

 **Short, but sweet. I try for at least four pages in everything but the first chapter, so don't mind ^^ I've got the next two chapters down (also pretty unsatisfying), but I'll hold off for a week to upload each (because I want to work on the rest of the story before you guys realize I actually have zero idea of where this is going). Honestly, I've already got a whole reincarnation thing going on, but it's not happening anytime soon - sorry.**

 **See ya, I guess~**


	2. Homestuck

**Merlin is to BBC as Harry Potter is to Warner Bros and J.K. Rowlings**

* * *

 **Homestuck**

An unknown owl brought Merlin (as the boy had learned he was called) a letter the very next day.

It was addressed to one _Mr. Merlin Ambrosius, 23 1/2 Golden Noble Hill, Colchester._

He could read, he found, but not what the letter dictated. Kilgharrah - who happened to be a dragon - had to read over his shoulder when reading the letter.

The objects in the house also had names, some of which Merlin could almost apply significance to. The _oven_ was strictly prohibited by Kilgharrah, which he thought was absolutely ludicrous. He made a point of saying so, but tripped over a pair of shoes immediately after. Merlin was not allowed to touch the stove either.

Kilgharrah read aloud:

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Mr. Ambrosius,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

"Of course," Kilgharrah exclaimed once he finished, "You will surely find your way if you travel to Hogwarts."

"Why is that?" Merlin looked over the list of items he would need for this school. "I thought you said I already knew how to do magic."

"Of course you _did_ , warlock, but you have forgotten the arts. We can't have that," the disguised creature tutted. "I knew you would eventually cause your own demise with all the experimentation you had taken to. Alchemy, spells, the creation of an entirely _new_ form of magic!"

Kilgharrah ranted and scolded like a mother hen, Merlin thought, but all the dragon said was probably true. After all, the youth could not remember the years upon years of memories Kilgharrah said he was missing.

"Worst of all," the owl continued, "I can't be reverted into a dragon by anyone other that _you_!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"You can't have meant it if you don't remember why you did it! You really are an idiot, young warlock, but a powerful fool is powerful nonetheless."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Just tell me why I have to go to this Pigmole-"

"-Hogwarts."

"- _School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. I thought you said I was no good at the _new_ new magic. That I'm too powerful."

"You are, but you can learn. After all, we must find a way to control your magic. You have no idea how, and it's especially vicious for your child body," this, he said, while narrowing his yellow eyes, scrutinizing Merlin's "child body".

Merlin frowned. He liked his body. It was the only one he knew.

"Alright. So I'm going to learn how to control my powers?"

"Yes, but that is not all. You have many important lessons. Now, young warlock, you must be careful to not reveal your identity. I'm sure someone of your caliber will- no, no. _I_ will have to accompany you if we are to prevent your name from emerging. We will have to enchant more than just this letter, but I'm sure you have something in this collection of useless spells you were so intent on creating…"

Kilgharrah continued to mutter, scouring the room and its myriad of books.

"But I still don't know how to get my memories back," Merlin drawled.

"Neither do I," Kilgharrah said. "I have told you time and again that you should adhere to the Old Religion, but you have pushed the boundaries of insolence. I'm sure this was divine punishment, but I can't just leave my dragonlord to fend for himself in the streets of the Kingdom."

So Kilgharrah was just taking care of him. Merlin felt a smile tug at his lips. He frowned when the full meaning of Kilgharrah's words reached him.

"So I'm not going to remember?"

"It is unlikely that you _won't_ remember," Kilgharrah said, "but you had a reason and a life when you did. Now," he looked at Merlin's lanky form, "you are just a _child_. You can't work, and you can't use magic without causing a disaster. We have no idea when your memories will return, so we can only work through this."

"Then I'm stuck like this."

" _We're_ stuck like this."

Merlin released a breath with a scowl. It hadn't been particularly annoying to not have memories when he'd only just woken up, but his life had become terribly boring in the one day he could remember of it.

A book passed his head, and Merlin flailed. He glared in Kilgharrah's direction, still attempting to prevent a hard fall. "That almost hit me!"

"I wish it had. Look through it. You made the language - only you can read that book. Get."

Merlin almost refused, but one look at the owl's eyes told him Kilgharrah was not messing around.

It was by pure coincidence that he happened upon a journal entry titled "In case of amnesia" first.

"What's am-neh-si-a?" he asked, sounding out the word.

"Amnesia," Kilgharrah corrected, "is a muggle medical term for one's loss of memory. You studied medicine at some point or another, recently too."He perked up slightly, "Have you found something on it?"

"Yes. _'In case of amnesia'_ ," Merlin quoted.

"Read it."

Merlin obeyed. _"'I hope Kilgharrah never has the chance to read this',"_ he began, snorting along with the disguised dragon. _"'However, it's bound to happen. There are many years of experience in my mind, but a human body is delicate, immortal or not. My old friend, I'm sure you and I understand this more than anyone. No amount of power could help clumsy me avoid injury._

"' _If I do ever get amnesia - here I'll remind that this entails a loss of memory - and it happens to be severe, I advise taking me to an experienced medic. A muggle physician will do. I doubt my colleagues will be alive, though maybe they are. If I break down, the bracelets are in an enchanted chest under my bed.'_ What bracelets?" he paused to ask.

Kilgharrah looked grim, but answered nonetheless. "They block a sorcerer's magic, but they are not pleasant. Thankfully, you won't be in need of them. What else has your wiser self dictated on the matter?"

"' _But you know me'_ ," he continued, " _'I will rarely suffer so harshly from means such as those regular men suffer from. I fear my true demise may be of my own work, but Gaius was a good teacher, and his curiosity of the world infected me. I cannot simply stop creating and building and learning, Kilgharrah. I know. You hate that I delve into things of the unknown, but the Old Religion had to start somewhere, right? Just as well, I'm starting something new. It is not wrong, nor right. It just is. It is magic._

"' _Sadly, everything is dangerous, especially in my line of work - if I may call it that. Things explode all the time, is what I'm trying to say. Spells get shot at random directions and I tend to get hit by them. This language is ingrained into us, Merlin, which is why you can read it. It is ours, it is us. Kilgharrah, you'll have to teach me English. Take me to Hogwarts. Things rarely go wrong there. And if they do, they do it for the very worst. In that case,_ take me _._

"' _Guys, be careful. Destiny is a tricky thing, and memory is a distinguished artifact held dearly by living beings. If my memory has slipped from me, it must mean something is coming. Or maybe I'm a paranoid old fool. Things rarely work out, so let's be safe than sorry. Kilgharrah, teach me please, my old friend, but try to limit the riddles. See you soon, Merlin.'_ That's how it ends."

Kilgharrah swooped to the boys shoulder, looking over the language that Merlin had ingrained into himself. It made no sense for the dragon, but underneath it were runes that did.

"You left spells," he said, silently - very very silently - praising Merlin for remembering to leave them. They were _just_ what they needed, and a few more to spare. Merlin had indeed become wise with age, though he would remain a fool in Kilgharrah's eyes nonetheless.

"They look like gibberish," Merlin complained. "I said that you would have to teach me to read, but do I have to learn to read English _and_ this?"

"Don't worry, young warlock, I'm sure you'll manage," Kilgharrah said dryly. "You took to the language of the Old Religion quite quickly your first time around, I'm sure it will be no different this time." This was said only to soothe the boy, of course.

Kilgharrah was just as enthusiastic, if not less so, to be a teacher for a _younger_ Merlin. To make matters worst, Kilgharrah's sight had not been on destiny. All he was now was a dragon, a companion to his dragonlord. Nothing less, nothing more.

 _Well_ , the dragon narrowed its eyes, looking at his body, _I'm an_ owl _. Nothing less, maybe more_. He was not surprised to find that that set of spells a wiser Merlin had left them lacked one to turn him back into a dragon. _That is so Merlin_ , he complained mentally.

The list of items for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry lay only a few steps away. Kilgharrah had to wonder how he was going to guide Merlin through Diagon Alley.

Worst, he dared not think of what would happen when they reached Gringotts.

The disguised dragon groaned, feeling the millennium he had lived weigh him down in a single moment. Those twenty years spent under a castle would be nothing compared to this.

"Kilgharrah?" Merlin asked, innocent worry flashing in his eyes as if he weren't the cause of the elder's suffering. Just for that, Kilgharrah made sure to fly close enough to the boy's head to hit him with a wing. "Ow!"

He deserved it.

* * *

 **Un-everything (beta, exciting &c.) I'm sorry. I'm tired. Junior year is as fun as the weather is cold. Not very, but still a little :/**

 **See ya, I guess.**


	3. Modern Travel

**Urgh, I feel so bad for waiting an entire week before uploading despite already having quite a few chapters done, but I don't want to upload three chapters in three days and then wait five before uploading another. That leads to uploading at a constant rate before taking three months to update again—I don't wanna do that.**

 **I will tell you this, though: Merlin has been sorted. I'm sorry if you wanted him to be a Hufflepuff or something. I honestly considered making him that or a Ravenclaw, but it didn't happen. I am a big fan of 'Only A Boy' and the Saga of the Lightning Speaker ^^; He's Slytherin.**

 **Fair warning: This will only fulfill all my dreams of crossovers and AUs, not yours. I'm sorry. I'm selfish.**

* * *

Modern Travel

The day Merlin finally managed to find his way out of the small house, he went to Diagon Alley.

Kilgharrah accompanied him, clawing at his hair or shoulders when he felt like resting, which Merlin thought should have attracted more stares than it actually did.

His clothes had been too much, but he had found a coat that was almost only too big rather than enormous on him. He tucked a shirt into shorts that constantly fell despite the belt he'd tightened around himself. None of his shoes fit him, so he made due with sandals that scraped and dragged on the ground.

He had grabbed a nice red neckerchief last minute, as though through muscle memory.

Merlin looked ridiculous.

"If someone asks about your parents, tell them your mother is afraid of magic, and your father is busy."

"Why?"

"You are absolutely curious about everything, aren't you boy?"

Merlin thought this was not a fair statement, as he could not remember his parents, but was quite aware of their deaths.

"I just want to know! Why can't I say they are both afraid? How come one of them has to be busy?"

Kilgharrah didn't roll his eyes, but if it had fit his aesthetic, he would have done so at that moment. "It is much easier to imply that at least one of your parents is a wizard. Let's say some families pride themselves in their lack of muggle descendants."

"Then I may as well say one is busy and the other dead!" Merlin, young and stupid as he was, forgot he was walking the streets alone, so let his voice reach a high volume. Many people, most of which Kilgharrah had called "muggles," stared at his passing figure. _Oh,_ now _they look._

Kilgharrah rolled his eyes.

"Say what you will, young warlock. Just remember to be less conspicuous. You are practically an orphan, and I doubt the ministry will allow you to continue living on your own if they ever realize your living situation."

"I'm an adult!" Merlin huffed. Kilgharrah chose not to comment.

Time passed, and Merlin found it hard to keep his jabbering to a minimum, much to the dragon's despair.

"What's that?" he would ask, pointing at a building.

"Hey, look! What's that say?" - pointing at a coffee shop sign.

"That looks interesting, do you know what it is?" - staring at a daycare.

Kilgharrah was relieved when he could finally say, "Stop." Merlin did so, and they waited. They weren't entirely alone, but the street was quiet and the strangers silent.

"Well?" the dragon stared at the warlock. Merlin shrunk. Had he forgotten something?

"'Well' what?"

"Call the Knight Bus!"

"Right!" A short pause. "How do I do that?"

"Lift your right hand," the dragon commanded, irritation in his voice. It took a moment to teach Merlin how to hail taxis and Knight Buses.

It didn't take quite as long for Merlin to almost lose an arm, the bus had arrived so quickly!

"It's not night yet," he commented, looking over in the Sun's direction. The sky was red, so maybe it didn't matter.

Why had Kilgharrah not waited until dusk to let Merlin out of the house anyway? Instead, the two had traveled the town, only earning the dragon more irritating questions from the amnesiac.

The boy almost smiled when he realized Kilgharrah had probably known how suffocating it was for Merlin to be stuck inside all day, young boyish energy—as well as magical energy—coursing through his veins, begging for something to do.

Or maybe Kilgharrah had only tired of being in the same room as the other for so long. That was also likely.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for witches and wizards who have been left to their own luck! Tuck your wand, climb on board and we'll take you wherever you need go. My name is Stan Shunpike. I'll be at you service tonight…" The man, Stan Shunpike, trailed off, noticing Merlin for the first time.

"Yeesh," he said, "they get shorter every year." He shook his head and tutted.

Merlin stared. Stan Shunpike couldn't have been much older than him, so maybe he was working part-time. As the warlock understood, most people _had_ to go to school until they graduated or flunked out.

"What are you waiting for," the teenager stared, "come on. What's your name?"

"Merlin-" Kilgharrah glared. "Merlin…erm, Emrys?" Kilgharrah didn't stop glaring. Merlin thought it was an imaginative name.

"You asking me?"

"My name is Emrys," he reaffirmed, forcing his voice to sound honest. It wasn't as hard as it should have been, and Kilgharrah seemed to be placated, though he was still disgruntled by the chosen surname.

"Well, Merlin Emrys, we can take you wherever you want—so long as we can get to it by land, mind you. Can't go underwater. You did call us, right?"

"Yes! I'm going to," the boy struggled to remember the name, "London…"

"You don't sound very sure of yourself, but alright. That'll be eleven sickles, but for thirteen you can get a cup of hot chocolate, and for fifteen a bag of hot water and a tooth brush of your chosen color."

Merlin had found various currencies in a drawer beside his bed, of which Kilgharrah had warned him not to forget (along with a tiny golden key he'd found under his pillow). He had kept them in the pocket of his too-big coat, though they weighed him down incredibly.

He wasn't entirely sure what sickles looked like, but he guessed according to the intensity of Kilgharrah's continuous glare. He eventually distinguished the silver coins from the rest, and handed thirteen to Stan.

He was led to a bed, which might as well have been the norm—this was Merlin's first time on a bus, according to his memories.

"This one's yours. This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Merlin Emrys, Ernie." Once introduced, Stan handed Merlin a cup (which didn't feel as sturdy as the boy thought it should be) of warm liquid.

Though it didn't look too appetizing in Merlin's narrow opinion, it smelled great, so he leaned in to drink.

The bus shook, so he only managed a sip of his drink before spilling the cup on the floor. Luckily, only his sandals had gotten wet.

He ignored the discomfort, too busy trying to keep himself upright and glancing at Kilgharrah jealously. The disguised dragon wasn't at all bothered by the turbulent vehicle, as he was safely hanging in midair, flapping his wings with a bored expression.

Deciding he would throw up if he didn't take his mind off the constant movement, Merlin looked out the window. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of streets and buildings blurring past them. The other vehicles—end even some buildings—were all moving out of the bus's way, but no one seemed to see or hear. Merlin was almost entirely certain that "muggles" did not ride buses this haphazard, _probably_.

To Kilgharrah, he wondered, "Does nobody else notice us?"

It was Stan who answered, "Muggles? They wouldn't, now would they?"

Merlin nodded like he understood. According to Kilgharrah, Merlin hadn't really been part of the magical society. If anything, he'd preferred people with no magic to the workings of the outcast wizarding world.

He spent his time with people who could not perform magic—at least when he could control his own. He refused to refer to them as "muggles." Though, currently, Merlin did not know why, he felt he should respect his wiser self's wishes.

The little English Kilgharrah had managed to teach Merlin (who had been reminded of the written language at a slow, but exponential, rate), had only just served him to read snippets of a nearby paper. _The Daily Prophet_ , it was called. The word "prophecy" had been one of the first to be taught to him.

It wasn't quite a surprise to see the pictures on the newspaper move. It had actually been a bigger surprise to him when he'd found photos of his past companions that _did not move_ in his drawers the first time around.

" _How do they stay still for so long?"_ he had voiced, earning a long look from Kilgharrah.

The bus stopped, letting a passenger leave, though shakily.

"Well, _Merlin_ , where you heading? Which part of London do you want to go?"

Unsure of his pronunciation, Merlin answered, "Uh, Diagon Alley."

"Unsure as ever," Stan grinned, "Hang on."

Though he tried, Merlin didn't manage to actually hang on. He eventually—after a long battle to avoid it—fell off the bed, just as the bus stopped again. He hadn't even been able to enjoy the view!

He managed to stand up again, though staying up was a bigger issue. Stan seemed used to it, as he grabbed the boy's elbow without hesitation.

"Thanks," Merlin breathed. "Bye Ernie, bye Stan," he said, amicable as ever.

"Maybe," Stan gave him his own answer, almost as unsure as Merlin's previous ones. He let Merlin go, ducking as Kilgharrah made his own way out.

"Maybe…" The Knight Bus took off, leaving Merlin with an owl on his head.

Silence.

Finally, Kilgharrah said, "Emrys?"

"I made it up," Merlin grinned proudly.

"No," the dragon shook his head, "You remembered it."

"I remembered!?"

Though owls could not nod in general, Kilgharrah managed. "Yes. I suppose it is not too bad. No one this day and age correlates Merlin to Emrys, though they are still one and the same."

"Oh. Sorry. Why would anyone care anyway?" Merlin asked, turning around to see a tavern—old and a bit dirty. _The Leaky Cauldron_.

Not many people were passing, it was almost night, but Merlin could feel the magic preventing the few who did from seeing the pub. It was different from the spell he'd place on his own house. For one, his house was actually located between buildings, so it hid itself when he wasn't using the front door.

His house was also under a much more powerful enchantment, old and scary—but safe for him. This pub had unfamiliar and weak magic. It was still nice, nonetheless. All magic was, in Merlin's experience.

"Young warlocks such as yourself should be wary of getting a bigger head than they already have," Kilgharrah warned in response to his question. "But if you must know, you are very famous in the eyes of…well, both the wizarding and muggle world. Muggles, however, believe you to be a legend. No, a myth. A simple fairy tale."

"I'm real," Merlin argued.

"Of course. Even if they all believed you were, they would also think you to be dead. You are past a regular human's prime, warlock." He didn't turn to directly look at the youth, but he did take a glance to see his reaction.

Merlin grinned innocently, "I'm only three days old Kilgharrah, what are you talking about?"

That earned him a wing to the head.

Inside the Leaky Cauldron, strangers saluted genially, though Merlin was generally ignored. Someone asked where his parents were.

"Waiting for me in Diagon Alley," he mispronounced. The stranger laughed and was nice enough to lead him to the back himself.

"Dedalus Diggle's the name," the man with a top hat said, smiling widely.

He was giddy, which prompted Merlin to say, "You're sure happy, aren't you Mr. Diggle."

"Oh yes, yes!" It seemed to be just the right thing to say, as the man held his hat to keep it from falling and began to gush about a certain "Harry Potter" and their meeting.

Merlin could barely keep track of what was being said, the man was speaking so fast, but he congratulated him anyway. He seemed to think he deserved it.

They were in front of a brick wall and a trash can. Merlin would have thought it to be a joke—Diagon Alley? Behind _this_?—if not for the slightly altered magic around the wall.

Three bricks up, two across, and three taps of Dedalus Diggle's wand had the wall quivering. Though he ought to have expected the scene, Merlin's eyes sparkled at the sight of the widening hole in the wall.

"Whoa!"

Behind it, an entirely new world.

* * *

 **Does this count as a cliffhanger? Nah. Nah. It's called Modern Travel, not...something else...?**

 **I guess this chapter was really only a filler? I want to focus on characters that weren't main characters, and Stan Shunpike seemed like a nice-ish teenager to bring into the story.**

 **Other characters that I will surely involve? Cedric Diggory, Weasley Twins, Dean Thomas, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillan, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy (duh, lol, OAB fan here), Neville Longbottom (especially), etc. I'll be honest: the "** **Snape was a Slytherin who was bffs with a muggle-born** **" and the "Draco can withhold on the prattish-ness" cards are going to be pulled.** **You are not ready for what I have underway.**

 **See ya, I guess~**


	4. Gringotts

**Sorry I'm late~ I'm not even rereading these. At this point, there are going to be serious repercussions to this story. Bluh. I don't wanna go to school anymore~**

* * *

Gringotts

Most shops were still open, though some had already closed due to the darkening sky. It couldn't have been later than six o'clock, so Merlin traveled with his owl of a dragon, carefree as ever.

"First," said Kilgharrah, "You need new clothes."

Merlin slipped on his wet sandals, falling to the ground with a groan. Passing men and women winced.

"And shoes."

They made their way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Madam Malkin was all smiles and of mauvish robes. She was short, so didn't intimidate Merlin like other witches would have.

If she was tired of the many students coming in for robes, she didn't show it, though she did ask, "Hogwarts, dear?" before Merlin could let out a word. He nodded.

He may have been the last batch of the day, as he was alone the rest of the time. He did not meet any children his age (eleven, said Kilgharrah, if the letter from Hogwarts was anything to go by), though he did pass some who were carrying school items out of stores, talking animatedly to their parents.

Merlin glanced at Kilgharrah, who looked to be in no mood to talk. He sighed, increasing his speed, just a bit, dragging his new chest loudly behind him.

He suddenly missed the familiar surroundings of his house, oppressive as they were. He had many journals full of funny and terrifying experiences he could read there, including spells he didn't dare read aloud.

They reached a point in which Merlin had only one item left on the list — a wand — but no money.

"Don't have any more money," he muttered, frowning as he took out currencies from his pockets that mismatched the wizarding world.

Kilgharrah huffed. "We'll have to make the trip to Gringotts after all," he almost groaned, to which Merlin winced.

"Sorry," he said, wondering why the dragon didn't want to go, and if he should be afraid. Or was Kilgharrah just tired of him after four days?

The dragon didn't reply to his apology, leading the boy to an edifice, white and tall, with bronze doors and a goblin ready to welcome them in.

Merlin looked warily but didn't comment when Kilgharrah chose to finally speak to someone other than the warlock.

"This is Emrys," he said. The goblin looked at Merlin, raised a brow, but nodded all the same.

The goblin was a lot shorter than Merlin, but definitely more clever if his flourish and gait were anything to go by. Nonetheless, the goblin bowed when they walked inside.

 _Enter stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there._

Merlin thought the words on the second pair of doors they passed were being dramatic but chose to heed. He was no longer as wise as he had once been, but he was not stupid. He should not steal from the bank, Gringotts.

Not that he would have needed to.

The tiny golden key Kilgharrah had warned Merlin not to forget opened his very own Gringotts vault.

The journey to the vault was interesting.

It seemed the goblins recognized them. They bowed as the first goblin had, some with more reverence, others with a smugness that Merlin though befitted their jeering eyed and pointed chins.

Kilgharrah flapped to a nearby counter, glaring at Merlin as if challenging him to do something. Merlin did not know what this something was.

"What's wrong Kilgharrah?"

The disguised dragon lost the ability to fly for less than a second, losing a foot in height before regaining himself. He glared intensely at Merlin.

"Kilgharrah," a sly voice came from behind the counter, where a goblin was counting notes.

Merlin looked to see the goblin had a smile to match his words. He switched from looking at him to looking at Kilgharrah and back again.

"Do you know each other?"

"No," Kilgharrah ground his teeth— beak. He ground his beak?

The goblin raised his brows with a haughty look but agreed that no, he and Kilgharrah did not know each other. Merlin did not believe them for a second. However, his companion's stare was getting scarier by the second, so he decided to introduce himself rather than wait for hell to break loose.

"I'm Merlin Emrys," he extended a hand. The goblin did not take it.

"Yes, I know. Do you have your key, Emrys?"

Merlin retracted the hand, fighting to keep his smile on. "Sure. Somewhere…" He checked his pockets, chuckling nervously when he found the small key in the first pocket—which he had to check a second time.

"Quaint," the goblin said. "Very well. Bloodwell!"

Another goblin made his way to them, leading them to a thin passageway, scattered with tracks that Merlin would not have known were necessary had it not been for the fun ride he would experience next.

Bloodwell whistled, and a cart made its way to them, so quickly that it almost reminded him of the Knight Bus.

"Kilgharrah," he complained, and, again, Kilgharrah was too frustrated for words.

"Kilgharrah?" The goblin sounded just as sly as the other, if not more so.

Merlin huffed when the disguised dragon ignored the two, but by then he had entered the small cart. Bloodwell didn't give him enough time to breath in again when he set them off.

Oh, Merlin preferred the Knight Bus so much more than he did this convey from hell!

He thought that maybe the ride would have been enjoyable had he been able to recover his breath, maybe find a stable footing. As it was, it felt like he was on the verge of falling out any time the cart chose to turn.

He never did fall out the cart, but he was flung forward when it stopped. He recovered more quickly than he should have, already used to falling over constantly. His journals definitely made it clear that he had never gotten rid of his initial clumsiness, and that Arthur — whoever that was — would surely be proud.

The air was cold around him, and he shivered. His vault was numbered seven hundred and nineteen. Merlin wondered how deep underground they were.

"Key," the goblin said, hand extended. Merlin handed it to him.

Once Bloodwell had unlocked the door, green smoke had filled the air, not allowing Merlin to take a look at his fortune, whatever it may be.

Once the smoke had cleared, the boy gaped. Despite the piles and mounds of gold that looked like they were going to fall over, he couldn't help but put them aside at the sight of the many other artifacts surrounded by Galleons.

There were so many more books than his house could hold!

There were ancient paintings, simple yet eloquent vases and statuettes.

A cross-bow, a staff that he couldn't help but stare at, a saddle, some armor he had a strong desire to polish — it looked in need of it despite being spotless.

A pair of socks lay beside the armor, looking important.

A small wooden dragon stood on a hill of gold, as if protecting it.

A pair of glasses leaned on a portrait of a blond man Merlin just knew had once been great.

Wilted flowers on some chainmail that looked significantly smaller than the armor stood beside a cup and a crystal (two items he felt incredibly wary of, but wanted to touch nonetheless).

It all meant nothing to him, yet he knew it meant the world to him.

He made sure to avoid touching any of it, unsure of the permissions he had. How could he dare to touch things of such value?

Instead, he gathered enough Galleons to make his pockets looked bunched. He'd have to figure out a spell for this, the coins were too heavy!

He bit his bottom lip before grabbing three nearby journals, discounting them as treasures of the vault.

He gave the room a final glance before stepping out, feeling less likely to speak than he had before. He did not notice Kilgharrah looking at his face, attempting to put an emotion to it. If he had, Merlin would have asked what emotion it was, for he did not know it himself.

It kind of hurt.

Bloodwell couldn't have cared less. The past professionalism was gone, and Merlin almost thought he could hear a bell strike eight times. Gringotts had closed for the night.

"So," the goblin suddenly seemed much more mischievous than it had before, "You're an owl."

Kilgharrah turned away from Merlin, and Merlin turned to his disguised dragon. Had the Great Dragon been able to pale, he would have.

"Whatever happened to that great and powerful beast that had so pretentiously gloated of its release, hey?" The goblin grinned wickedly, earning a glare from the owl figure.

"It's still here," Kilgharrah rumbled, but it did little more than amuse the goblin.

His laughter was shrewd, but Merlin didn't feel particularly threatened by it. If anything, the aura he could just feel was being emitted from Kilgharrah terrified him more.

"Oh, Emrys," the goblin turned to Merlin, who jumped at the sudden mention of his chosen surname, "You have done good."

What?

"Um," Kilgharrah was one word short of attacking the two, flying furiously beside them. Merlin knew a fire-breathing dragon would have probably been more frightening, but the owl beak and claws suddenly looked quite pointy.

"Why is it that you have chosen to become a child again?" Bloodwell asked, still laughing under his breath. He had a cold way of going about things, but the question seemed innocent enough to Merlin.

"I accidentally blew up an experiment," he said, though he did not mention his amnesia.

Bloodwell didn't seem to care but nodded anyway. "Follow me," he said, continuing to mock Kilgharrah as Merlin did as told.

"Merlin!" Kilgharrah looked like he had been slapped with a fish, which was a nice change from the usual glare he had on him.

Because of this, Merlin continued to follow. He was tired of Kilgharrah acting so angry! Sure, it was Merlin who had messed up, but it was also only Merlin who had forgotten his life! They were both stuck in different bodies that they didn't desire, but at least Merlin had tried to be positive about it!

He tripped on the way, almost falling onto the door of another vault. Strangely, Bloodwell grabbed his arm before he could make impact.

"Careful," he said, grinning as if he didn't mean it, "You touch that and you get sucked in, and I don't feel like getting you out right now." Merlin nodded.

They arrived at vault seven hundred and twelve, only meters away from Merlin's.

The door had no keyhole, however, and the goblin stroked a strange sigil onto the surface with his long fingers, glancing at Merlin impishly.

The door seemed to melt, falling out of sight to uncover a large room — larger than Merlin's vault.

Now, Merlin knew where all the female goblins had been. They had been preparing for a party!

The grand hall was not really decorated, but there were sets of instruments on a small platform, food and drink filling the surface of three tables on each side wall, and the floor was cleared in the middle — ready for a dance!

Next to the instruments, at the very center of the opposite wall, was a chimney that spit out goblin after goblin, each being greeted by a roguish goblin lady of their own.

Though it certainly didn't seem like they were welcome at first, once Bloodwell had introduced Kilgharrah and Merlin, they'd been the butt of every joke Merlin would hear for the rest of the night.

The boy couldn't have cared less! He was clumsy, but even he could enjoy a good dance in the midst of music and friendly, if not flippant, company. He was having such fun that he forgot his age of eleven and his lack of memories. Not that anyone else really cared, or even knew of his faulty mind.

He forgot of Kilgharrah, who had eventually settled down, grumpily, on a table, accepting the more polite conversations with food that came his way — gruffly rejecting the ones from goblins like Bloodwell, who wished to flaunt that they were now bigger than him, he had no right to feel superior to them.

Merlin didn't know how anyone could feel like they were better than these folk. They were a gleeful lot, but they never let him forget that he was no better than them.

As much fun as he was having, Merlin let himself be served some meat and liquor. Sadly, despite his true age, his body could not take the amount of alcohol he consumed. He would later wonder if even a wiser Merlin could.

He was a menace the rest of the evening, tripping over his own feet and falling over goblins who pushed him aside, playing with him as if he were a toy. Too drunk to care, Merlin laughed along.

It was much later in the night that Bloodwell, still poking fun at the pair of accidentally enchanted creatures, finally escorted Merlin and Kilgharrah out of vault seven hundred and twelve.

Merlin was a giggling mess, so it was no surprise to Kilgharrah when he fell over nothing and touched vault numbered seven hundred and thirteen. Bloodwell had been too busy with his jokes to catch him this time, and the boy was sucked in.

"Whoa!" The rush of falling through a door had woken Merlin slightly, though his surroundings were doubled and confusing.

He stood up as well as he could try, knocking on the thick door.

"Bloo'well," he crowed, falling into a whine. "Lemme ouuuut."

He heard a shift behind him but paid no mind to it. He was alone in the room after all — who would be crazy enough to touch the vault door (situation notwithstanding)? Merlin thought he heard a goblin say they only checked it once every ten years.

But he heard the shift again, and he had to turn to shush it. It was being annoying.

His eyes widened at the sight of a face, terrifying and deformed, looking at him. If looks could kill, Merlin would have been dead the second this one's eyes had glanced at him, as if a killing curse followed the individual around wherever it went.

It glared at him, and not even Kilgharrah's eyes had ever seemed to hold such contempt. But his dragon was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

He couldn't help but scream, and, drunk and young, his magic burst out, flinging the scary figure away from him. As far away as possible!

The door behind him melted away, and Merlin fell back. His sight was blurry and nothing made sense except for that terrifying face.

A much nicer, albeit pointier, face looked him over, an owl flying above it.

"There's someone," he tried to say, but the words came out garbled. He shouldn't have had so much to drink.

But there was no need to mention it, Bloodwell had already seen. He yelled for his colleagues, but by then it was too late. He was hit by a green light and fell.

Other goblins ran to the scene, the figure long gone. It had fled.

Merlin looked at the goblin beside him.

"Bloodwell?" No answer. He tried shaking the body, but no amount of movement would wake him. At this point, Merlin wasn't sure anything ever would.

The world became **black**. Merlin was starting to hate that color.

* * *

 **Le sign. Drunk Merlin was a thing in the series, it's going to be a thing here! He didn't exactly get on a table to sing and dance, but he did go through quite a bit. Damn. I really _had_ been hoping to make Bloodwell some sort of supporting character (like I was with Shunpike). It didn't quite happen :/**

 **See ya, I guess~**

 **P.S. I also guess you could consider this the end of the beginning. Le shruggers~**


	5. Boy

**Sorry. I'm actually running behind on updating this personally as well. The next chapter isn't done, and I have a _very_ good excuse. High School. I was not allowed a single second to do much other than homework, projects, club activities, more homework, and studying. I didn't even get to study for PSATs, I was so tired~**

 **I hope this doesn't delay the next update like it did this one.**

* * *

Boy

"Why did Bloodwell invite us to that party anyway?" Merlin asked, days before his first day of school—but weeks after the goblin's death.

The death of a new friend had not gone over well with the amnesiac. The hangover the next morning had brought, as well as the sudden realization that Bloodwell had been murdered, sparked more than just flames in the room he'd been rented out.

But, yes, there had been flames.

Needless to say, Merlin now understood how volatile his magic was.

He had accepted the death quickly, however. It made him feel terrible, but he had journals. He had read of comrades and even cried over a few. Felt a twinge of what he could almost call remembrance for the dead.

His life was intoxicating, he found. Enticing all the same, he could not stop reading journal after journal. Some made little sense, what with the technology Merlin could not hope to remember. Luckily, Kilgharrah was there to answer questions like, "What is a telephone?" and "How do I tell time?"

The youth wondered if he would ever pass through to Avalon himself, but he had cried over a few pages that dictated the answer already. No, he would never. Or at least that's what it seemed like, but there was still hoping, right?

Right now, though, Merlin did not feel he had lived enough. He had things he wanted to do—despite not knowing what it was he wanted to be done—and he had questions he wanted answered—but just as well, he knew not which questions to ask.

Merlin had not lived yet, not enough, so he could only read the basics of life through his wiser self's eyes. For now. He had yet to go to Hogwarts to test out the knowledge he had gained.

The journals had certainly made his goal clear, however. He wanted to meet many people, and learn many things. Merlin would then help others, maybe even teach them! In turn, he could be taught much more than before, meaning he would know much more than before.

Even the wise Merlin knew this was dangerous and obsessive, but he did not stop—going as far as recreating magic!

How did that work anyway?

His thoughts were interrupted before he could think further into magic and recreation.

"That goblin only wanted to ruin our evening, Merlin," Kilgharrah answered. Well, it had certainly ruined the next week for the warlock.

"Don't say that," Merlin muttered, fingering the edge of a journal taking place in the eighteenth century. It was bothersome to see how little Kilgharrah cared for the death of another creature. Would the dragon even be sad if Merlin died?

Right. He could not die. Never mind.

He left the topic alone. Obviously, Bloodwell really had just wanted to make fun of Kilgharrah. As Merlin understood it, many thought themselves to be better than goblins. Kilgharrah had been arrogant, and maybe rightly so, but that gave the dragon no reason to taunt the clever creatures.

With Merlin—the Emrys who had genuinely seen them as a force to be dealt with and, eventually, an ally of sorts—they had truly meant to toast with. They shared a sense of humor, for sure, though Merlin wondered if he was perhaps more restrained than the shorter creatures.

Merlin later read a journal that detailed similar parties, most of which Kilgharrah had preferred to not attend.

"Why was someone in that vault?" Merlin finally spoke again, biting his cheek when remembering the sight of a face that held a death curse. He had been too inebriated to remember any more than a green light, the fallen goblin, and, worst of all, the face.

"I assume it was to pilfer," the dragon answered. Without eyebrows, he still managed to noticeably lift a brow, giving Merlin a steely look.

"Duh," the youth failed to notice the look. "But behind those doors was obviously something important, right? They were better protected than the other doors! Why would someone go into one, knowing they could be stuck there for a long time?"

"Perhaps they didn't know they could be trapped there for a decade," Kilgharrah said, reasonably so. After all, it might not have been a secret, but Merlin knew it surely wasn't common knowledge.

However, Merlin shook his head. "I don't believe that." By the looks of it, Kilgharrah was starting to be a bit dubious as well.

No doubt, precious things were worth the risks.

There was nothing to be done on the matter. The vault had been empty—been checked out that very day. Bloodwell had died for absolutely no reason, and the killer was still on the loose. Merlin almost thought he should warn whoever had the precious secret vault seven-hundred-thirteen had held, but he knew The Prophet would take care of that.

Besides, he was a simple child. A boy, barely a few weeks old!

He should not get involved any further.

He would not get involved any further.

Really.

. . .

"We never got my wand," Merlin exclaimed, jumping from his trunk. He would be leaving for Hogwarts the very next day!

"You don't get one," Kilgharrah answered, bored as ever.

"But it's on the list," the boy said, grabbing the piece of paper. Items were crossed out, all but the wand. "I need a wand to do magic, don't I!?" That was a stupid question, he realized when the socks in his trunk jumped along with him.

"No, of course not," Kilgharrah said, flying from his perch (which was really just a chair) to the drawer next to Merlin's bed. "In here is your 'wand'." Merlin could hear the quotation marks surrounding the word.

"Is it not real?" he asked, approaching the drawer. Opening it brought disorder to the already chaotic things within. There were cards, pens and pencils, small memo pads, and tiny relics—some of which Merlin recognized from journal entries. Most still meant little to him. Some brought nostalgia.

Digging deeper, he found a crooked stick. It looked old, wrecked even, but it was certainly a wand. Wands were, after all, only sticks, right?

"No," Kilgharrah answered. "It's hollow, but the rims are covered in runes. They should help to ease the transitions from Old to New magic."

Truly, there were rims on wand, and just as well, there were runes written on them. Merlin couldn't understand most of what they said, but he could take a guess.

"Why do I have this? I haven't read about needing one. I usually don't go in the magic world."

"You do not, but you have. It is difficult to gain bezoars when you avoid the shops that sell them."

"What's that?"

"Curious as always," Kilgharrah complained, but explained anyway. He also told of Merlin's short adventure as Hogwarts' substitute muggle studies instructor—the only reason he had a pseudo-wand—, and the terrible job he did at keeping his identity a secret.

"You went by the name of Morgan Dredging then. It took you days to finally begin responding to the name," the dragon shook his owl head.

"How come I've never read of this?" Merlin asked. Had he missed a journal somewhere? Maybe the vault had it. He would have to go back to Gringotts if that was the case. He wondered if he had met any promising students or teachers.

Since Kilgharrah had no answer to his question, Merlin simply took to waving his wand around. It was empty movement. Flicks and swishes and waves that made no sense. Why did one even need a wand, he wondered.

His eyes flickered—his pillow flung itself off the bed, at the bathroom door—and the tip began to glow. That certainly made it seem more powerful, but it was still as empty as before.

"Am I not allowed a real wand?"

"It would implode before you could manage a spell," Kilgharrah said. "You were simply not meant to wield wands of new magic. You could use the Sidhe staff if you truly need something to hold."

"What's a sidhe?"

Kilgharrah sighed and rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, he explained.

. . .

 _And so it begins_.

This is what Merlin thought as he passed through the dividing barrier between platforms nine and ten. Past it was, obviously, King Cross' very own platform nine and three-quarters.

Despite the obvious magic surrounding the barrier—something he was especially aware of when he saw a family of strangers pass through, one by one—he had still been doubtful of running through the wall.

He had his story. Kilgharrah would have never let him leave otherwise: His father was a busy man, and his mother dead. It was easier to keep track of a single parent, especially when neither were real.

Nobody bothered him as he made his way to the train. He was alone, surrounded by families saying goodbye to students. Kilgharrah would come to Hogwarts with him, so it was no use saying farewell.

 _Speak of the devil_ , Merlin thought, catching sight of Kilgharrah's brown feathers. The owl, also catching sight of the boy, gave Merlin a condescending look and continued to fly. Kilgharrah was out of reach and out of sight before he knew it.

It's was not hard to find an empty compartment. Everyone else was outside with relatives and friends. Merlin wondered if he should feel alone. He was, by all means, alone.

The journals in his trunk seemed to weigh more, and he sat down, anxious to read them. As interesting as the things Merlin knew were, the truly amazing part of his tales were the people he met. They all had things they wanted to do, and more often than not, Merlin had helped them in every way he could—discounting magic, of course.

It was incredible, the things men were willing to do to reach their goals. It stopped at nothing short of murder, but even then some were happy to commit terrible acts. Merlin wasn't quite as happy to help those men.

If Merlin were to describe men, all of them, in two words, he would say they were terrifying, yet terrific. He was only a background character by comparison, or at least that was how he was described in the journals.

The youth couldn't help but smile at the thought of being one of those men who overcame obstacles with sheer will. Maybe it had been due to the friends they had, or the courage to ever begin such remarkable journeys. Perhaps it had only been because they had worked hard in the end, or had it been their ingenuity?

Magic had not taken place, which was also amazing in Merlin's mind. All he knew was of talking owls, spells that could trick the eyes and minds, change his name even. His house was built upon a core of magic, and Diagon Alley had been swimming with power.

The urban and the city had seemed dull by comparison, he realized during his walk through the streets of Colchester, but the new scenery had excited him nonetheless.

He took out a maroon journal, 1900s. The story moved quickly, advancing into words Merlin didn't understand for the life of him before the boy could completely understand how he managed to meet the main character.

He followed the life of Carlos as best he could, but he would have to remind Kilgharrah to teach him Italian as well.

At the very least, Merlin knew there was definitely a lot of trouble, and wiser Merlin, though slightly put off, had accepted the change of pace with open arms.

Somehow, Merlin didn't think it ended too well for his past companion, but he wished the man the best all the same.

"Gran," a boy's voice whined from outside his compartment's open window, dragging his attention away from words he couldn't translate, "I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, _Neville_ ," the boy's gran sighed.

He heard a scoff and looked up to see Kilgharrah.

"That's not very nice. I'm sure you've lost a toad or two in your life tine," Merlin reprimanded. "Why are you here?"

"I was hoping to avoid a catastrophe," the dragon said. "Seeing as there is no one with you, my services are not required."

Kilgharrah would have flown then, if not for Merlin's cry. "Wait!"

The owl head turned, and yellow eyes jeered slightly at Merlin's flushed cheeks. "Yes?"

"Um," the boy stuttered. "Do you know Italian!?" The blush was gone, and the boy seemed all too excited to have come up with an answer.

"Of course I do," Kilgharrah answered.

This was how Merlin was almost found talking to an owl.

From outside his compartment came a few shrieks, some shouts of "Spider!"; but Merlin decided that the accompanying laughter meant it was only a prank. Luckily, it had made him and Kilgharrah pause in their lesson plans long enough to welcome a sudden arrival.

"Have any of you—oh," Merlin looked up to see a girl with bushy hair and rather large front teeth at the door of his compartment. "Have you seen a toad? Neville has lost his." He noticed a boy with a round face behind her.

So this was the boy who'd lost his toad. _Again_.

"No, sorry," he smiled apologetically.

The girl frowned, but thanked him anyway and moved on to the next compartment. Neville timidly followed her with tears in his eyes.

The compartment door closed in accord with Merlin's eyes—now fading from gold to blue—and he laid down, just barely avoiding a wing to the face.

"Do not use your magic frivolously," scolded the owl. Merlin shrugged, laying down when a yawn overtook his body, making him stretch widely.

The disguised dragon settled down on the opposite seat, rolling his eyes. Merlin was truly a child.

"Sleep, young warlock." The boy smiled warmly at Kilgharrah, as if he knew something the dragon did not. He would decidedly ignore that.

"Sure, oh Great Dragon." Kilgharrah huffed at the sarcasm, but took to staring out the window when Merlin finally closed his eyes.

Merlin, himself, felt the warmth of his smile disgustingly well. It was not fair that he should care so much for a dragon when the dragon obviously held little respect for him—especially in the child body of his.

Even so, the fact Kilgharrah would stay with him throughout his entire journey made him want to grin. He did not feel alone because he was not.

He was such a _girl_.

The boy let his eyes close, knowing Kilgharrah would slap him silly when they arrived at the school.

He dreamt of a sword in a stone.

. . .

Hogwarts was a castle.

Merlin gaped at the large structure, dark and ominous. It loomed over all the students who rode boats—the first years.

The sleek lake he paddled on was black enough to swallow him in darkness, even as he sat on a boat atop it, but that did nothing to daunt Merlin. He was reaching his final destination!

Kilgharrah had told him of a wiser Merlin's exploit in the forbidden forest—which had ended in injury. However, meeting a centaur really seemed like it was worth a fractured ankle.

"Heads down!" the giant man, who the boy that now sat in the same boat as Neville had called Hagrid, yelled. They all did, and the boats steered themselves through a dark tunnel. They were underneath the castle.

"Will you stop?" the boy next to him scowled, "You're getting me all jittery."

Merlin realized he had been jumping in his seat. "Sorry," he muttered.

It was just like that that the blond boy began a conversation, slightly drawling. "Know what house you'll go to?"

House? "No," Merlin answered.

"No one really does," he continued, getting off the boat like all other students. "Well, I do. I'm going to be in Slytherin, we all are," he gestured to the other two, much quieter, boys who had paddled with them. Merlin thought he looked like a stick in comparison, which was a scary idea, so he turned back to the blond.

"What other houses are there?" he asked. This obviously put off the blond.

"You don't know? What, are you a mudblood or something?" This was said with a sneer.

Mudblood? What was that? He decided to ignore the obvious insult and instead ask.

"What's that?"

"You are full of questions, aren't you?" The blond was jeering, a terrible look for him in Merlin's opinion, but he answered all the same, "Mudbloods aren't like _us_. They are born of muggles. Honestly, they have no business dealing with magic."

"That's not very nice," Merlin frowned. "My father's got magic, but I'm not sure about my mother." Kilgharrah had told him Balinor—an important man to the dragon, apparently—truly had had magic. His mother had never been a topic of conversations for the boy and dragon, however.

That did little to ease the boy's sneer.

"I'm Merlin, by the way," Merlin said. It was no good to make enemies when he could be friends with someone. People were difficult to understand, but the amnesiac knew they all had reasons. Not all his past comrades had been angels, and neither was he.

Merlin wondered, briefly, if Kilgharrah would be proud of him for holding such an adult perspective on the matter.

"Merlin," the blond muttered. "Did your mother name you?"

The ravenhead nodded.

"You must come from a wizard family," he nodded approvingly. Merlin had no idea why that was. "Draco Malfoy. Oh, and this is Crabbe and Goyle."

Merlin refused to laugh at the name "Draco" when he knew he had been named after a bird.

Really.

"So," Merlin began, now easing into his walk with Draco, "What other houses are there?"

"Obviously, there's Slytherin. I guess it wouldn't be too bad to be talking to you if you ended up in Ravenclaw," he said, looking the lanky boy over. "But if you get sorted into Hufflepuff or, worst, _Gryffindor_ , don't ever talk to me again."

Merlin smiled. "Well, I'm not sorted yet, am I? How do we get sorted? Is there a test of some kind? How do you know which house you'll end in?"

Kilgharrah would have been annoyed by the questions by now, but Draco Malfoy liked to hear himself talk.

The blond began to answer, but before he could get a word out, they heard three loud knocks. Merlin looked over to see Hagrid at the front, leading the students to giant castle doors.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he realized Neville had gotten his toad back.

* * *

 **Yeah, I know. Pretty cringey. Since he's just a little kid, I'd like to think he imprinted on the first adult figure he met. Kilgharrah, obviously.**

 **I wanted a Draco and Merlin relationship like the one in _Only A Boy_ , because I'm a huge copycat and I really love that story. But he also kind of fits in even _less_ than Blaise. However, storywise, he fits in just as well as Padma fits into Parvarti's life (that makes no sense right now, but wait for it). Anyway, since this is about Merlin, I _will_ write about Draco. **

**See ya, I guess~**


	6. Kyou Kara Slytherin!

**Welcome! No revision has been done tonight, maybe tomorrow!? Sorry for the unsupervised quick pace~**

* * *

Kyou Kara Slytherin!

" _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your tall hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head,  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

Merlin wasn't sure if he should have been surprised by a singing hat, or if he should have been surprised by the surprise on the faces of the surrounding students. So he hadn't been the only one to not know how they would be sorted.

Seeing as he hadn't been the only one to gasp at the sight of ghosts, nor the ceiling that appeared to not exist, he felt calmer than before.

Still, he was just as nervous as the children surrounding him. What house would he be going to? As this amnesiac, he felt none of the traits the hat had described. What happened to students who didn't get chosen?

He tried to think of a wiser Merlin.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall, a woman in emerald robes who had led them to the hall, said. "Abott, Hannah!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Certainly, he would be a Hufflepuff. Having lived for so long showed exactly how patient he could be! And he was definitely loyal, if all the moments he had described with comrades were to be believed.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Though, Draco would definitely not like that. Neither would he like it if he ended up in Gryffindor. A wiser Merlin had truly been daring, and it took a lot of nerve to stand up to your companions (something Merlin knew had been done).

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Maybe Ravenclaw would be his house, since he knew his wiser self had been terribly interested in learning. He had the wit, he had the ready mind—who would dare not have a ready mind after living for so long!?

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Though Slytherin also seemed nice. The description had been ambiguous, but the meaning obvious. Slytherins would "use any means to achieve their ends." Merlin wasn't quite sure how much he liked that, but he understood the feeling. However, the wiser Merlin had been little more than a wandering soul.

Maybe he would really not fit in anywhere. Merlin began to shuffle his feet anxiously, listening as the surnames of students slowly—too slowly—advanced from "B" to "C" and then "D".

Finally, "Emrys, Merlin!"

He heard a few snorts, but was otherwise like any other student. Just a name in the crowd.

That calmed him slightly.

He swallowed with difficulty as the hat engulfed his head, leaving him with nothing to look at but **black**. Nothing to listen to but the hum of a small voice in his ears.

The voice chuckled.

It suddenly dawned on Merlin that the hat could very well see through his head. Did this mean it could also peek through his memories? Even the ones he's lost?

"I see it all," the hat answered a question Merlin never asked. "Old, great and powerful, Merlin. You were correct when you thought your wiser self could fit into either Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor.

 _Not Slytherin, then_ , Merlin wondered, choosing to ignore the "old, great and powerful" remark. He knew what he was. Had been. Would be.

"Most of all, Slytherin." It made little sense to Merlin.

 _But, what you sang doesn't go with what I've written in my journals. I had nothing! No friends, no goals to achieve! The most "cunning" I've ever been was when I lied about my magic._

"And how true that is," the hat had a smile in its voice. "But you made real friends, and you went though great means to achieve your goals. You may have forgotten the past—one filled with the adventures of a younger Merlin—, but I can still see it. It's there."

It had never occurred to Merlin that his wiser self had, at some point, been young. He supposed it was only natural for him to have been less wise before he became wise.

 _A younger Merlin_ , the boy thought, hands clutching the stool he sat on.

"I rest my case," the hat said, but Merlin's mind still whirled at the possibility of the wiser Merlin—someone he had, admittedly, thought of as only a background character and a guide—being someone more.

He had spent so much of his time admiring the world around his wiser self, through the eyes of someone old and past his prime, that he had never dared to think Merlin to be anything else.

"SLYTHERIN!"

He didn't thank the hat—it was taken off before he could managed—but he did look back once. It seemed smug, but it only reminded Merlin of Kilgharrah, so he smiled back (aware of the hat's lack of eyes).

The Slytherins clapped to his arrival, inviting him to sit. He felt his knees go weak, his nerves reach a peak.

Merlin fell onto the table, unable to do much else. Professor McGonall's words echoed back to him. A breath he had been holding let itself out.

" _...while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts…"_

Well, he didn't have a family outside of Hogwarts.

"Flinch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Granger, Hermione!" Ah, the girl who had helped Neville search for his toad.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Longbottom, Neville!" Who had lost his toad!

"GRYFFINDOR!" Neville darted back and forth, having forgotten to take off the hat.

"Macmillan, Ernest!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

"SLYTHERIN!" It was almost immediate, and Merlin felt strangely proud. Draco sat a few seats away from Merlin—with Crabbe and Goyle—, but he smirked smugly when they caught sight of each other.

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!" A twin came soon after that one, but she was chosen as a Gryffindor.

"Potter, Harry!"

Whispers broke out in the crowd.

The boy with messy black hair and round funny-looking glasses looked like any other student to Merlin. He was nervous, cowering under the gaze of surrounding students and teachers.

However, it seemed he had every right to be uneasy. His name was muttered as if he were famous. Hard to believe—the boy was only eleven—,but even Merlin had to admit he had heard the name before.

But when? Where?

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Most of the hall followed the boy with their eyes. His cheer was by far the rowdiest, and Merlin had to resist the urge to cover he ears.

Two redheaded twins were vivaciously cheering, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Curious as Merlin was about this Harry Potter, he resolved to ask about it later. There were only a few students left, so he dragged his eyes away from the Gryffindor table and to the front.

"Thomas, Dean!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Weasley, Ronald!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Zabini, Blaise!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

And it was over.

The headmaster stood up, eyes twinkling at the sight of his school. His name was Albus Dumbledore, if Merlin remembered correctly. His presence demanded attention, and Merlin gladly gave it to him.

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Food appeared on the empty dishes of the Slytherin table, causing Merlin to choke on his laughter.

 _Whoa._

It was such a banquet, he almost felt guilty looking at it!

Next to him, Blaise Zabini placed lamb chops and roast potato on his plate.

"Eat up, _Merlin_ ," an older student patted his back, emphasizing his name in a confusing manner.

"Thanks," he answered.

The food was delicious, only made better when a ghost—one that looked horribly blank and bloodied—appeared, terrifying students of all years. His smile was seen by his neighbor.

"You've got a sense of humor, don't you?" Zabini said, elbowing him with a grin. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. Merlin, was it?"

"Yes, and you're Blaise."

They shook hands, a gesture that came almost too naturally to the amnesiac.

They spoke, mostly about the dark boy, but Merlin had nothing about himself he could share, so he listened gladly. The amount of times Mrs. Zabini's had married was remarkable, and frankly a bit scary, but Blaise was a smart mouth.

Merlin found the wit helped.

What they did manage to discuss about Merlin was his name.

"You must have been teased often," Blaise inferred, "Your parents really like Merlin, right? Can't say I blame them."

Merlin cocked his head. Well, Kilgharrah _had_ said he was famous. "My dad doesn't talk about him often."

Rather, the dragon talked _to_ him.

Not that Kilgharrah was a parent figure, heavens no. He was just a dragon disguised as an owl who happened to be at least a few centuries older than Merlin's wiser self (imagine how much older he was than Merlin _now_ ).

"Are you serious? Why name you after the greatest warlock of all time and not talk to you about him? All the time! I was hoping you would be an expert on the subject—you could have helped me with history."

Merlin, blushing after hearing his new friend call him "the greatest warlock of all time," but couldn't hope to get out any coherent sentence longer that two words.

"Sorry," he finally muttered, determined to look up the history of _Merlin_ later.

Blaise seemed to think Merlin was embarrassed for not knowing his namesake, so he replied, "Don't mind it, mate. I don't know everybody who's been named Blaise before."

 _But I know everything and nothing about_ Merlin _._

It wasn't until the two boys had finished eating their share of chocolate eclairs, doughnuts, and just about any ice-cream flavor Merlin could get that the headmaster spoke again. With his newly announced presence, the desserts disappeared.

Merlin thought it was probably for the best, he was so stuffed. He blamed Kilgharrah for never letting him eat much other than frozen foods and leftovers. The no-stove-or-oven rule was still in place, after all—not that he knew how to cook.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the entire hall silenced.

"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

Merlin listened attentively. Kilgharrah had explicitly stated that meeting the centaurs was likely the best option they had to predicting Merlin's future. Amnesia was so serious, he agreed with a wiser warlock when he had written to be "better safe than sorry."

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

The headmaster's eyes skimmed over the Gryffindor table, and Merlin had a feeling the two grinning redheads would not listen to any of the rules Dumbledore dared utter.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

Merlin would not listen either.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

Whatever Quidditch was…

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor in the right-hand side in out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Merlin almost thought he was exaggerating, even felt a smile tug at his lip, but a shiver ran down his spine when nobody laughed. He was serious.

Were schools normally so unsafe?

He overheard a few of the older students around him discuss the matter, agreeing that it must be true. Strange, Dumbledore hadn't given a reason, but that didn't mean there wasn't one.

They should avoid the third-floor corridor in the right-hand side.

He would too.

Really.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" the headmaster cried enthusiastically. Merlin had no idea what to do, but it seemed it was not an issue.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

Everyone sang.

Merlin couldn't help himself when a tune he did not recognize—yet thoroughly enjoyed—accompanied the lyrics:

" _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
_Whether we be old and bald,  
Or young with scabby knees, _  
Our heads could do with filling,  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
_Bring back what we've forgot,  
 _Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot."_

His was a cheery tune, one which ended quickly and on a high note; a total contrast to the funeral march the redheaded twins held to the very end—much to his amusement.

The song was strangely appropriate to his situation, he thought.

Dumbledore sent them off with an ode to music and an "Off you trot!"

Trot they did.

Though he was tired, Merlin still conversed with Blaise. He held off on questions, seeing as the other boy seemed just a sleepy as he was. Dinner had been filling after all, and even the great halls they passed through seemed warm, toasty, and ready to be slept on.

He paid little attention to his surroundings, mindlessly following the herd of first years walking behind a prefect. Some portraits welcomed them into the school, and Merlin sometimes waved.

The children reached what seemed like the lowest floor in Hogwarts, the dungeons. Led to a hidden door, they were shown how to enter their common room, the Slytherin Dungeon.

Not exactly a homely name, but the actual room was more than something pretty to look at.

"Salamander," the prefect whispered to a wall.

The wall revealed to them a room shrouded in a green and cold atmosphere, elegant and biting. There were carved seats, leather sofas, and resting spots around. A mantled fireplace stared at them from the center of the opposite wall. Green and round lamps hung around to illuminate as little as they could.

"The password changes every fortnight," the prefect announced. "Remember to check the noticeboard, else you'll be stuck out here surrounded by damp walls. Also, remember which wall you whisper to, for Merlin's sake."

Merlin almost smiled at the thought of speaking to a regular wall, but stuttered when his name was announced. He choked on air. Blaise kindly patted his back, smirking knowingly. Draco, standing at the very front, seemed more amused than he had any right to be.

"Don't bring anyone who isn't a Slytherin here," the prefect warned, to which some scoffed. "Off to bed."

They were pointed to their appropriate chambers. His trunk lay next to a very comfy-looking four poster bed, so Merlin assumed the bed was his. He sat on it, watching as four other students lay on their own. Blaise, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"It seems I was sorted into Slytherin after all," he chose to say, smugly looking at Draco's tired—yet still oddly pompous—figure.

"Fortunately," Draco said.

The other four were asleep before Merlin could say "Goodnight." He still did so, only receiving a scoff he knew had not come from anywhere near him.

 _Where do the owls stay, Kilgharrah_ , he wondered.

 _In nice perches where we are free to roam the skies_ , the Great Dragon answered rather bitterly. _A much better location than yours._

 _Dungeons aren't so bad_ , Merlin replied.

 _Try spending twenty years in one._

He did not reply, already having dozed off, despite the nap he'd take on the Hogwarts Express. What a child, indeed.

. . .

 _Goodnight, young warlock._

* * *

 **Oh, I am so behind! So behind, I will be surprised if next week _gets_ an update. I suck. I should have planned things out. I didn't. I have three things planned out in this story, dude. None of them are going to become a thing unless I can finish writing everything that comes _before the things_! Urgh. **

**See ya, I guess~**


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